Page 120 of When We Were Us
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
wrenley
“What? Why?”I say, fighting the sheer desire and emotion threatening to pull me under. It’s like a riptide. I couldn't get out even if I wanted to.
“I don’t want our first time to be me throwing you up into the bed of your granddad’s pickup, like a horny fucking teenager.” Hank tries to laugh but it comes out strangled. “Also, you keep riding my cock like that, I’m about two seconds from blowing in my pants.”
I let out a breathy laugh, but I don’t stop moving my hips. I feel powerful and wanted and so damn turned on by this man. I’m on a high from all I’ve admitted, and I feel like I’ll float away if I don’t stay anchored to him.
He lets out a low groan and a shiver runs through me as he dips his head and trails his lips down the column of my throat. I tip my head back, giving him more real estate to work with, because his words most certainlydo notmatch up with the way he can’t keep his lips off my skin. His stubble tickles my neck and I imagine what it will feel like on my inner thighs.
“Maybe you should lose the pants then, because I remember having quite a bit of fun in the back of this pickup a time or two,” I rasp out with a tug on hishair, bringing his lips back to mine.
We’d never gone all the way together back then, making a promise to one another to wait until it had felt right. But we’d definitely had our fair share of hot make out sessions. And this? This is not the boy I remember from seventeen years ago. This is not Hank the lanky, goofy twenty-year-old. This is Hank the man. The man who isn’t afraid to tell me exactly how he feels. The man who calls me out and doesn’t let me hide from him.
He lets out a tormented groan when I move down his neck and place soft kisses across his collarbone. My hands run up his sides, over his ribs, and across his chest. It's dusted with a smattering of soft brown hair that leads right down his stomach and disappears into the waistband of his pants. Trailing my finger down his abdomen, with my fingernails scraping lightly, I keep my eyes on his. I want to make him feel good, and I need him to see what he does to me.
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask when I reach the button on his pants.
“N–no.” His hazel eyes drop to where my hand rests, just above his waistband. I can see just how much he doesn't want me to stop by the way his cock is pressed against his zipper. My mouth waters.
He swallows thickly. “I just want you to be sure. We said a lot of things tonight, baby.” His eyes raise to mine.
“I love you, Hank. I want you and I want this. Right now. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”
His head jerks in a nod and his exhale is shaky.
My fingers pop the button on his pants and reach for his zipper, but he’s quicker. In one fell swoop, he stands, taking me with him, and sets me on my feet.
A squeak escapes my throat as he grabs my hand, yanking me along behind him.
“Tuck, stay!” he barks out when the dog gets up to follow us inside. I look back over my shoulderand almost stumble, but Tuck just lies back down next to the truck, his head on his paws, unaffected. “Sorry, Tuck,” he whispers almost as an afterthought, and I giggle.
Hank strides up the short set of stairs, tank top and hoodie gripped in one hand and my hand clasped in the other. He pauses long enough to push me in front of him.
“Inside,” he says in a low voice, and I obey immediately because the way he’s looking at me has my core clenching. A light sweat breaks out across the back of my neck.
Hank kicks the door shut behind him and then he's colliding with me, grabbing my ass in his hands, and rocking his hips against me. He kisses me breathlessly and then steps back.
“Lose the shorts, Wren. Bra, too.”
I nod quickly, the look in his eyes heating me from head to toe. I kick off my shoes, but I fumble with the button and zipper of my shorts. I abandon that effort and take the path of least resistance by unclasping my bra, pulling it off, and holding my forearms over my breasts.
“Don’t hide those gorgeous tits from me, baby. I want to see all of you.”
I drop my arms and I can see his throat working to swallow. His eyes darken when he hauls me back to him with a hand to the nape of my neck, and the thumb of his other hand swipes lightly across my nipple. He brings our lips together in a crushing kiss. I moan into his mouth when he rolls my nipple between his thumb and finger and gives it a gentle tug.
Needing him to feel as good as I do, I run my hands down his stomach, and palm his hard length in my hand through his pants. He rocks against me. He’s breathless as he pulls back and watches as I trail my eyes down his body, my fingers following.
He needs this. This slow perusal, the tender touches, the admiration of my eyes on him. At nearly thirty-eight, he is better than I ever could have imagined.
He’s not ripped like someone who spends hours in the gym would be. No, Hank is all broad, rounded shoulders and thick biceps. Probably from throwing around hay and whatever other sexy cowboy shit he does all day. Pink nipples and pecs I want to bite. He doesn’t have a defined six-pack, but his abs are taut and give way to a barely there, lickable V-cut. But more than anything, he's the man I love and he’s mine.
“You’re so beautiful,” I breathe out.
With my other hand, I drag his zipper down. His skin is soft and warm when I pull his cock out, and God, he is perfect. He’s long and thick, and saliva floods my mouth with the urge to taste him.
When my hand closes around the hard length of him, he lets out a shaky sigh and his eyes slip closed. I stroke him up and down once. His eyes flutter back open when I run my thumb up the underside of his head, and then up over the tip, spreading a bead of precum across it.
